Cyclops (Dirk Pitt 8)

Listen in to their conversation and report back to me in two hours."

He didn't wait for an acknowledgment, but punched into Borchev's line. "Major Borchev, form a detachment and go to the dock area. Lead it yourself. Check out this Perez and his relief force and report back to me as soon as you find out anything."

Then Velikov buzzed his secretary. "Get me Colonel General Kolchak's headquarters."

His deputy straightened in the chair and stared at him curiously. He had never seen Velikov in a state of nervousness before.

"Something wrong?"

"I don't know yet," Velikov muttered.

The familiar voice of Colonel General Kolchak suddenly burst from the other end of the phone line.

"Velikov, how are things progressing with the GRU and KGB?"

Velikov stood stunned for several moments before recovering. "Where are you?"

"Where am I?" Kolchak repeated. "Trying to clear classified documents and equipment from my headquarters, the same as you. Where did you think I was?"

"I just received a report you were meeting with Raul Castro at the hunting lodge."

"Sorry, I haven't mastered being in two places at the same time," said Kolchak imperturbably. "Sounds to me your intelligence agents are starting to see ghosts."

"Most strange. The report came from a usually reliable source."

"Is Rum and Cola in any danger?"

"No, it is continuing as planned."

"Good. Then I take it the operation is running smoothly."

"Yes," Velikov lied with a fear tainted by uncertainty, "everything is under control."

The tugboat was called the Pisto after a Spanish dish of stewed red peppers, zucchini, and tomatoes.

The name was appropriate, as her sides were streaked red with rust and her brass coated with verdigris.

Yet, despite the neglect to her outer structure, the big 3,000-horsepower diesel engine that throbbed in her bowels was as bright and glossy as a polished bronze sculpture.

Hands gripping the big teakwood wheel, Jack stared through the moisture-streaked windows at the gigantic mass looming up in the blackness. She was as cold and dark as the other two carriers of death tied to the docks. No navigation lights indicated her presence in the bay, only the patrol boat that circled her 1,100-foot length and 160-foot beam served as a warning for other craft to stay clear.

Jack eased the Pisto abreast of the Ozero Baykai and cautiously edged toward the aft anchor chain.

The patrol boat quickly spotted them and came alongside. Three men rushed from the bridge and manned a rapid-fire gun on the bow. Jack rang the engine room for All Stop, an act that was strictly for show as the tug's bow wave was already dying away to a ripple.

A young lieutenant with a beard leaned out of the wheelhouse of the patrol boat and raised a bullhorn.

"This is a restricted area. You don't belong here. Move clear."

Jack cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "I've lost all power to my generators and my diesel just died on me. Can you give me a tow?"

The lieutenant shook his head in exasperation. "This is a military boat. We do not give tows."

"Can I come aboard and use your radio to call my boss? He'll send another tug to tow us clear."

"What's wrong with your emergency battery power?"